


The Art of Making (and Raising) a Pirate Princess

by Lifeinahole



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, F/M, Fluff, Future Fic, Pregnancy, a pinch of angst from a false positive, but that's as angsty as the fic gets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-17
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 09:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14690807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lifeinahole/pseuds/Lifeinahole
Summary: It’s more than just a simple affair, making a baby with the woman he loves. It takes time and patience, and a lot of adjustment. Killian wouldn’t have it any other way, really, when it means living his happily ever after with his wife and daughter.





	The Art of Making (and Raising) a Pirate Princess

**Author's Note:**

  * For [captainstudmuffin (iknowhowyoukiss)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iknowhowyoukiss/gifts).



> So I have to admit, this is actually written by captainstudmuffin. The ideas, the concepts, the little details - most of it is from her. She kept throwing these ideas at me in text messages and eventually there was just this pile of fic blocks and I put them together. I’m merely a conduit, and she is the real artist behind this fic. I merely put together the pieces she handed to me. And, this is only part 1! This is Emma’s pregnancy, the birth of their child, and the immediate aftermath all told from Killian’s point of view. Liz will be writing the second half, which revolves around the fact that their daughter has magic. Spoiler alert on the name of the baby, just in case, but otherwise this is all just some off-screen, not-quite-speculation but future fic-type-deal. Enjoy!

For so long, Killian Jones knew only one thing: Revenge. It was the very song in his blood for so long, that when it came to forgetting about his vengeance, it took time, and it took patience, and it took training himself to leave it all behind. The only reason why he succeeds, especially after his own stint as a Dark One and being brought back to life (a mere blip in the grand scheme, he determines after extensive therapy sessions with the cricket) is because of his wife.

Now, Emma told him all the customary joys of wedding nights and honeymoons in this realm, but he doesn’t even traditionally get that, as he is whisked away to the crumbling Enchanted Forest as Emma battles the Black Fairy. There is no “Wedding Night” until after the crocodile’s mother has been defeated, and Gideon turned back into nothing more than a harmless babe, returned to Belle’s loving embrace and given the chance to grow as a boy should.  

And _oh_ , then, what a wedding night he and Emma finally have. All the times they’ve ever been together have been perfect by their own rights - it’s either been passionate or soft, loving or intense, they either find satisfaction and continue about their days or evenings, or they go until they exhaust themselves for hours or days afterwards. There are so many things he thought he knew about loving a woman, but he finds with Emma that there’s always something new to discover. Also, there’s the wonderful benefit of the modern world. He always has so much to learn when it comes to those joys.

More than just for satisfying a carnal pleasure, however, their bedroom activities begin to take on a secondary role after they sit down and have the talk about both of them wanting to try their hand(s) at parenting. They both have reservations about it; Killian is worried that Captain Hook might be too much a pirate to be a father, Emma worries that The Savior lost her only chance when she gave up Henry. They hold their monikers and their fears at the forefront of every discussion they continue to have over the course of the next several weeks, but Killian notices the little packet of pills disappears from Emma’s nightly routine, and the box of condoms runs out and never gets replaced.

While Killian would never begrudge Belle the pleasure of motherhood, there becomes a desperation in Emma as the year goes forward and there’s still no little babe of their own on the horizon. Not that Killian needs a reason to ravish his beloved, but the soft, sad smiles they begin to give each other month after month when her monthly cycle starts makes him want to try to make it up to Emma. Their lovemaking goes from “we’re finally married” to “we want to start a family.” From there it goes to “let’s try again” and onwards to “I’m sorry it wasn’t this time, love.” That takes a leap over to “desperate for this to work” and “maybe we’re not trying hard enough.”

Every position, every angle. There are days when he _feels_ 300 given the contortions they’ve tried, and while the end results are always the same and he _always_ makes sure his Emma is satisfied before they’re through, there’s no payoff in the form of a bloody double line, or plus, or smiley face, or whatever the test specialty is.

Until… Until the day of the false positive. Dr. Whale, who’s always struck him as a strange man, does remark that having a mistaken test is at least less heartbreaking than some outcomes. He hates to say it, but he agrees with the doctor. From there come the fertility tests, the talks about treatments, and the day Killian destroys every pregnancy test in the house when four more negatives show up.

“We can’t keep living by these damn tests,” he explains when Emma comes home to find them all in pieces across their kitchen table, all pierced through or smashed with the hook he no longer views as a weapon. It is an extension of his own; it is the natural end to his arm, now. “We just can’t do that to ourselves again.”

His voice breaks on the words and for the first time since they were forced to part ways in the Underworld, Killian breaks down. It’s his beautiful wife that picks up the pieces again and puts him back together.

His chance to return the favor comes a few months later when Henry sets out for his own life of adventure. Somehow, the departure is both sooner and later than Killian would’ve figured, what with Henry’s restlessness growing by the day, and his inability to stay in one of his mother’s houses for longer than a few days at a time. It seems as if a flip switches in him when he graduates, and suddenly the acceptance letters from universities were pushed to the side in favor of where a magic bean might take him.

They set aside the hopes for a child while they all - really, the whole town - deal with the leaving of the lad that set this all in motion. None of their lives would be what they were if it weren’t for one little boy showing up on his birth mother’s doorstep to drag her back to her family. So understandably, there’s a void caused by his leaving. The town feels huge after he’s gone away.

After the appropriate amount of time, they decide to treat the empty house as the honeymoon they never officially got. He gets to see a lot of Emma naked, and worships every minute of it. For days, they leave the sheriff station in her father’s capable hands while they lock the doors and hide away. She is his sunrise and sunset during those days. It’s like falling in love with her all over again, which he didn’t even know was possible when he never fell _out_ of love with her. Somehow, it all just grows stronger, and by the end of the week, they’re reluctant to go back to their normal lives when there are still so many words to be whispered against each other’s skin, so many ways to bring each other pleasure.

The benefit, of course, is not just the lovemaking, but the last of any stories they’d held back, their lives all laid bare for the other to see. Also, it’s probably the best they eat in ages, since everything is home cooked with a reluctance to leave for even the length of time it would take to get a meal to go, or to eat at a restaurant. Each night, Killian settles restfully into bed beside Emma, and they both ignore the wide open silence of the house around them.

Sure, it creaks and groans, but it also silently calls for the sound of little feet learning to walk, of laughter and cries of a young one. For weeks it pleads for new life. For months it whispers about new joy that a baby would bring to them, as if they aren’t fully aware of it already.

One night, with the house making its quiet demands, Killian gently rouses Emma and coaxes her into lovemaking, right there in the moonlight, whispering again and again how much he loves her, loves her, _loves her_.

He makes a wish on every star he can’t be bothered to look at because he’s looking at Emma, and she is the only star he ever needs to guide him anywhere. But he wishes anyway, that they can finally get what they’ve been wanting, or for it to be made clear that it’s just not in those very stars for them to be parents together. They can find a new plan if they just _know_ that the current one isn’t in the cards.

They’re sweaty and spent by the time they’re through, and the murmurs of the old wood finally quiet enough for Killian to fall asleep feeling more whole than he ever did when he had two hands. Their quiet murmurs of love precede them into sleep, where Killian dreams of tiny fingers and toes, and a dimpled smile.

They sleep in late the following day, and Emma’s smile is breathtaking when he finally opens his eyes. She says nothing, but her hand strokes down his cheek as she leans in to kiss him. His heart aches with hope, but they continue on like always and settle their expectations. Besides, it _is_ impossible to tell after a few hours whether or not the latest round of (damnably perfect) intercourse would have resulted in a pregnancy.

When the alarm goes off one day a few weeks later, he moves to exit the bed and get ready for his shift, but Emma refuses to budge.

“Come on, love. I’ve got to get ready.”

“Just five more minutes,” she mumbles into his chest, wrapping herself tighter around him and nodding back off almost immediately. He reaches over and hits the snooze button, wrapping his arms around her and kissing the top of her head, letting himself drift for the remaining time. It’s not like it takes him long to get ready - apply the appropriate toiletries, brush his hair and teeth, and he can pass for another day.

When the alarm sounds again, he extricates himself from her grasp and covers her back up. “Sleep well, my love,” he whispers as he kisses her cheek. He moves as quietly as he can while getting dressed, making sure to take the steps slowly and not barrel down as they usually do. Even the door gets pulled gently behind him as he goes. She always works so hard; this is the kind of rest she deserves.

At lunch time, he returns to check on Emma. Her communications have been sparse and short, so unlike how they usually correspond when they’re apart. When he finds her still in bed, he begins to worry after her health.

“You sure you’re feeling well, love?”

“Yeah, just _tired_ today,” she says as she sits up. When he perches on the edge of the bed, she leans against him, resting her head on his shoulder and inquiring about his day so far. He tells her about his quiet shift while he also presses the back of his hand to her forehead to check she isn’t feverish. Her fingers glide along the curve of his hook, and while her expression is sleepy, she also looks content to listen to him speak.

He texts David to let him know he’ll be back late, herding Emma downstairs so he can make her some lunch. She admits as she picks at her beloved grilled cheese that she didn’t make it down for breakfast, and his worry grows again when she manages barely even half of her sandwich.

She’s in bed early that night, after falling asleep on the couch after they’d eaten dinner, halfway through one of her favorite movies. She didn’t even have the appetite to make her popcorn concoction, which is when Killian insists that she take the next day off, as well, and keep resting as long as she needs to. She assures him that if it goes beyond the next day, she’ll make an appointment with the doctor.

Of course, the nature of her “illness” comes to light about a week later, when he comes home from picking up dinner from Granny’s and Emma is sitting at the kitchen table, facing the door, with an all-too-familiar box in front of her.

“Why don’t we eat first,” she starts, but even she doesn’t seem too keen on the idea, insead, twisting her fingers together out of nerves and watching intently as he places the bag on the counter and holds his hand out to her.

“Now?” she questions, but she only moves to place her hand in his when he gives one succinct nod. They move upstairs, dinner completely forgotten as she slips into the bathroom and back out with the tester in hand. She climbs atop the bed, sitting next to him against the headboard, the test cradled in her lap. Their hands find each other and link together, their clasp tight and nervous.

“They say it’s better to take it in the morning - something about the concentration of the chemicals or hormones or something, so it might still not.. but if it doesn’t… I’ll take it again in the morning just to be safe, and you can destroy the third if it’s - if it’s not... ya know?”

“Aye,” he murmurs, his heart pounding too hard to say much of anything else, his hand tightening around hers, and they both swear later on that it’s the longest two minutes of their lives. It’s longer than all the other two minutes they’ve ever waited for a test, all of them combined, but when her phone timer dings to indicate it’s up, neither of them immediately move.

He looks at her, only her, the darkened circles around her eyes, her hair soft and left to dry naturally falling past her shoulders. She’s beautiful, always, and she’s radiant now even though she claims she looks a mess when he tells her so. “Together?” he asks, once he finally swallows the lump in his throat.

She nods, and their joined hands break away so they can each grab one end of the stick and flip the test over as they bring it closer to read. If this one is another negative...

Her voice sounds almost breathless when she speaks. “Does that say…”

“Pregnant,” he whispers back, his heartbeat hammering somehow louder than before, but they’re both trying to keep their joy packaged away, just in case. So, other than a hopeful smile, they don’t make any other comment on the results.

They set it aside, going back downstairs after a few minutes of stunned silence and picking at their now-cool meals, turning in and treating the night as if it’s nothing out of the ordinary. They’ve been through a positive. It could be a repeat performance. But it could be….

In the morning, Emma takes another test, doing her best to ignore it as she goes about her daily routine. She carries it back out as carefully as possible and sets it face down between them as Killian wipes the sleep from his eyes and pushes himself into a sitting position. Same as the night before, they grab hold of it together and bring it close. There’s just one word on it, again.

Honestly, Killian doesn’t remember much after that moment besides the fact that they both may have cried. Somewhere in there, she calls the doctor and sets up an appointment, while they both go about their days in a dreamy haze.

The next hardest part is going through all the medical jargon. It’s the first time in a long time that Killian feels utterly displaced in this realm. In the Enchanted Forest, from what he gleaned over the years, the women did their best to stay healthy while with child, and then a midwife was called upon, and the baby delivered, and then it was just a matter of feeding them from the breast until they could have whatever mashed up fruits and vegetables were in season. It’s too simplified, of course, to say all of that was _easy_ , but the land without magic has something else: medicine.

They run tests and talk about so many particulars that Killian loses track after roughly three minutes. While he struggles to keep up, Emma takes his hand and smiles, soothing him instantly.

After the appointment, Killian makes his way to the library, goes straight for the parenting section, and stays there for most of the day reading various books until the young lad that took over for Belle clears his throat when he’s ready to close for the day.

“You know, you can check those things out. This _is_ a library.”

“We’re just in the planning stages,” Killian says lightly. They haven’t told a soul yet and only the doctor knows. He doesn’t need to start gossip. “I’ll start borrowing when the time has come.” He gives the young man a disarming smile and leaves after putting the books back exactly where they came from, which gains him some small favor.

Emma’s body changes slowly and subtly from that point onward, including the metaphorical “glow” that everyone always mentions, and the books always blather on about. He didn’t believe it until he actually began to see it for himself, and there are some days he’s not entirely sure it’s not her magic lighting her up like the many bulbs in their lamps.

When she begins to show, it’s so minimal that he wouldn’t have noticed if he hadn’t been looking right at it. Truthfully, he’s been watching closely to see when the changes would truly start to show. And one morning when Emma rises from bed, he sees it when she sheds her nightclothes and reaches for her improvised uniform of jeans and comfortable shirt.

Just the tiniest bit of convex attributes to her abdomen are showing, but he still rises from the bed, halting her in her progress so he can run his hand along the bump. She stills in his arms, her breath stuttering out, and her clothes are forgotten as his wandering hand continues. She leans back against him, humming in pleasure as he carefully weighs each breast, feeling the fullness of them growing from the size that he’s used to. It’s only natural, then, that his fingers ghost back down across her stomach and down lower still, until his fingers are sliding between her legs and the sound she makes is one part heavenly and two parts sinful.

Her morning routine is forgotten in lieu of letting Killian lead her back to bed so that he might touch and taste and plunder at his leisure. She glows a little brighter still that morning, and he smirks as he kisses her once more and leaves her in bed to recover, going about his own rituals of getting ready for the day so he won’t go back and do it all again.

It’s after they’re at work that Emma shares with him the pictures she’s been taking daily. They’re all taken in the mirror in the bathroom, just Emma in her undergarments, turned to the side. He delights in seeing the gradual progress, and it’s something they vow to do together from that moment on.

Somehow, despite numerous slip ups, they manage to keep it under wraps until after the first trimester, and they’ve only just announced it to everyone when they get the distress call from Henry. In fact, they would’ve gotten to him _sooner_ if Emma didn’t put up such a fight about _not_ realm-hopping into danger’s path.

“Snow did it _just fine_ when she had my brother so don’t _tell me_ we don’t know if it’s safe when she was transported back further along than I was,” Emma says, stricken with the need to go to Henry’s aid while he tries to placate her to stay back and get rest. “And I don’t want him to freak out and drop everything and come back here if he gets all worried that I need to be on bed rest, and I want to tell him _myself, both of us_.”

“Love, I _know_ it’s hard for you to -”

She’s out of the bed, then, pacing around as her hand rubs across her stomach in the calming gesture he’s watched her develop over the last handful of weeks. “Shell phone isn’t enough, I want to see my son and _talk to him_.”

When Killian moves toward her and presses his hand to her middle, she holds him there like a lifeline. “He needs _saved_ , Swan. And while it’s in your very title to do so, we don’t even know what we’re up against. I’ll do my best to see if he’ll come back for a visit so we can tell him together, but for now, stay safe and resting for me, for both of us, aye?”

Her face twitches, resisting what he’s sure is a myriad of different expressions. But Emma just presses up onto her toes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as she kisses him, and Killian knows that’s the best he’s going to get by way of an answer. With one more reminder that he loves her and he’ll be back as soon as he can, he goes to meet Regina.

Of course, Emma didn’t _stay_ home, but he should’ve expected it, honestly. One of the very many reasons he loves her so much is her tenacity and stubborn streak, and of _course_ she wasn’t going to wait around and hope that Killian would succeed in getting Henry to come home for a visit. And, in hindsight, it’s a damn good thing she didn’t wait around. He could still be left somewhere and rotting away while a false version of himself lives out the life he was meant to. Thankfully, this Wish Hook had a conscience buried away.

Adjusting after their adventure is easier with Emma’s desires fulfilled, and it’s only a week later that he discovers that she’s begun her nesting. Suddenly, she’s reorganizing every shelf in the house, cleaning every surface she can find, and giving him sweet smiles as she requests different tasks that she can’t complete on her own. He finds his own ways to settle his restlessness, taking on Emma’s tasks and adding some of his own.

Planning the nursery, however, is something they do together. He paints the walls a much less garish yellow than that of her car, and they shop together to fill the room with decor they both love. Deciding to keep it a surprise what they’re having, they shop for neutral, when possible, but Emma doesn’t think twice as she picks up a blanket with anchors on it, or the whale that also happens to rattle. Apparently, whether boy or girl, their child will enjoy a nautical environment.

Everything else is yellow and green, or inclusive of all the colors. Killian mostly follows Emma’s lead on these decisions, either opting to let her choose or waiting for that small smile she gives him when she thinks he’s made a good choice. Of course, he doesn’t know if she just always makes that face or if he always makes the right choices, because everything he grabs gets that mark of approval.

Close to the end of her pregnancy, Killian often finds Emma in the rocker they placed by the door. There’s a crib set up, and a changing station on top of a small dresser. With the over-the-top affair of the baby shower done, they finally have every piece of the puzzle locked in place. Everything has been washed with the special detergent, there are so many boxes of diapers in the closet, and Emma is getting impatient. She doesn’t say so, but it’s clear in the way she furrows her eyebrows as she’s humming and rocking in that chair.

On the days she does this, Killian walks in, places his hand on her shoulder, and whispers “patience” as he kisses the top of her head. She hums in recognition, smiling while she reaches up to squeeze his hand in return.

For some odd reason, he expects there to be dramatics when it’s time for labor and delivery. But, because Emma’s already been through this part of it, she barely raises a fuss at all. It’s also the first birth to take place when there’s no villain or curse or trickery happening at the same time. Just a trip to the hospital, with Killian speaking soothingly and trying to follow everything the books told him about heading into this stage.

When their princess is born, Emma is so strong. Killian, whose first declarations that she was a tough lass always proved to be correct, stands by her side, holds her hand, and marvels at the experience. He would’ve watched, but…

“No. You stay up here. I don’t care how much bravado my father has put inside your head I would still like to have _sex_ with you someday,” she tells him when they have a moment before the main event. And well, David _had_ claimed he delivered Emma, but Killian is smart enough to listen to his wife than try to pretend that he can deliver a baby like Prince Charming can.

Where once the major word in his life was revenge, there’s another that has played a significant role the last several years of his life. It dates back to the very days he began his journey with all these heroes. And so it’s fitting, when they’re finally all together and Emma is holding their tiny (so very _tiny_ ) baby girl, that she easily fits a name to the little one.

“Hope,” Emma says, gazing adoringly at the child and stroking her fingers along the now-dried wisps of hair - blonde, just like her mother’s, but Emma tells him that could easily change as she grows.

“It’s perfect,” he tells her, his own fingers gently combing through Emma’s tangled locks. “ _She’s_ perfect, as are you, love.”

“Oh shit, can I sleep now?” Her head falls back to the pillow, a blissful smile on her face as she says it, but he can see every ounce of exhaustion she’s holding back.

Killian chuckles, shifting from his perch on the edge of the bed and kissing her solidly on the forehead. She tilts up to meet his second kiss, placed on her lips.

“You can do whatever you wish, my love.”

For only the second time, Emma helps shift Hope into his arms, and watches while he settles into the plush chair beside the bed. “Wake me up if you need anything,” she says, and he watches as she rests back and promptly falls asleep.

His wife and his daughter - his heart thuds heavily in his chest because he has a _daughter_ \- rest easily until the nurses come back around to check on everyone. He knows it won’t always be this easy, but it’s at least a smooth beginning.

And he’s right, of course. The beginning was smooth but it all gets decidedly less so after Hope becomes more than an occasional squirm. She shifts straight from peaceful beauty to screaming banshee in the blink of an eye sometimes, and it’s beyond him how something so small can make quite so much noise. They lose hours of sleep, so many so that Killian is officially at a loss for how they can function so well when they’ve only had two or three hours, sometimes between the two of them combined.

It _is_ all worth it, he reminds himself constantly, especially when he comes home from the station on Emma’s days off and she and Hope are asleep on the couch together, the baby cradled between Emma’s breasts and her little arms wrapped around Emma’s neck. He rouses Emma gently on nights like that, helping her sit and stand up so they can put the babe to sleep in her crib and he can get Emma into their own bed.

For many months after their daughter is born, there is absolutely no sex - which Killian more than understands and respects. He’s patient to wait as long as it takes, but sometimes it’s hard ( _very_ hard) when Emma changes for bed in their room, her weight returning to what it was thanks to her dedication to fitness but also because she’s eating less and feeding their child. But her weight has no consequence on his level of want. He wanted her when she was full-belly round, and the times that they did engage in lovemaking while she was pregnant were possibly some of the best, as sparse as they were.

No, every need he has to be joined with Emma again is because physical intimacy is as much a part of their relationship as the emotional aspects. He wants her because he loves her, no matter shape or size, and despite the developing emotional connection they both have to Hope, he wants to feel the connection he’s always had to Emma - physically and emotionally - and in the bed is a place that’s always delivered their closeness.

Emma seems almost hesitant to initiate their intimacy. Several times she comes into the washroom when he’s taking a shower, and she tries to be sly as she checks him out as he’s reaching for his towel, but she mostly fails. Every time, his cock begins to swell, and her eyes are drawn to watch it pulse to life, but it’s only if he reaches for her first that anything begins, and even then, she keeps it to what she’s referred to as the first two bases on him. He’s yet to touch and taste his wife since before Hope was born, and he begins to crave it as the months creep onward. As thankful as he is for her attentiveness to _his_ needs, he derives a great deal of pleasure from fulfilling _hers_.

As with everything that’s happened since he promised to always be next to her, Killian approaches the subject one evening after Hope begins sleeping through the night and they’ve finally caught up on several hours of their own much-needed rest. It may have taken six months, but he’s glad it was only _that_ long.

One night, after Hope is asleep and they’ve retired to their own room, Killian sits against the headboard and waits for Emma. The monitor is already set in place on his side of the bed, part of their agreement that they switch off nights instead of trying to keep track of whose turn it is each time she wakes, and he keeps the lamp lit while she finishes cleaning her teeth and face before joining him in bed.

“Uh oh, I know that look,” she says when she returns to the room and heads for her side of the bed. “What did I do?”

“What did you - oh, love, nothing wrong, I promise. I just want to ask you something.”

She shuffles around until she’s sitting comfortably, mirroring his position down to crossing her ankles with her legs outstretched. He reaches for her hand, stroking his thumb along the silky skin and waiting for her to relax. When she looks at him expectantly, he smiles to reassure her.

“I don’t want to rush you into anything, but I wanted to know where you stood on the concept of _home base_.” The quotes around the phrase are hopefully heard.

She grins at his use of the term, and tightens her grip on his hand. “You wanna know when we’re gonna have sex again?”

“To put it bluntly, yes.”

She huffs out a breath, but her smile stays in place. “I _want_ to, I’m just worried that it’s… I mean, a baby _did_ just recently come out of there.”

“We can take whatever precaution so it won’t hurt you, but again, whenever you feel ready. You know I’ll wait until the end of time, if necessary.”

“But you sure wouldn’t _like_ to,” she points out, her grin turning wry as she gives him a look. “Anyway, it’s not comfort. Believe me, I’m sometimes so ready that I almost jump you as soon as Hope is down for a nap, but then I get worried. Things… are a little different down there, to say the least.”

“Are you worried you won’t experience the same pleasure you once did?”

“No, I’m worried _you_ won’t. I’m doing as many kegels as I can but it’s still a little…” and here she makes a vague hand gesture with her free one that he’s able to catch her meaning from fairly easily.

“Swan, it’s not a cavern, I’m not going to get lost in there. Besides, same as waltzes in the Enchanted Forest, all you need is a partner who knows what he’s doing,” he concludes, adding a wink to the end of the statement. “Whenever you’re ready for me to prove this, you only need to ask.”

She sighs heavily, lifting their hands to kiss the back of his. “Okay,” she tells him, putting their hands back on the mattress between them. They’re silent for a minute, listening to the faint sound of Hope’s steady breathing through the monitor.

“So, now?”

“Hmm?”

“Now, Killian. I want you now.”

He chuckles quietly, tugging her closer with their joined hands until he can kiss her. “Well, if the lady is asking,” he murmurs before shifting them around so she’s laid out on the bed.

Mapping her body is a task he would normally take his time with, but as he begins his usual slow wandering, Emma tugs his hair to bring his attention back to her.

“I know it seems like we have forever because she’s asleep, but you never know if she’s going to wake up, so if we could like, hurry it up a little? I promise I’ll ask Mom to babysit sometime soon and we’ll do slow then.” In the past, that would’ve been reason enough for Killian to slow down, but the edge in Emma’s voice is _just_ threatening enough that he heeds the warning and follows her lead in the rapid shedding of their bedclothes.

Not _quite_ the leisurely reintroduction he’s imagined, but he certainly can’t complain, especially not when Emma is beneath him, her body a warm invitation that he slides into with the help of the lubricant she presses into his hand. “Just in case,” she adds. For all her talk of her worries, there’s no discernable difference in the sensation. To him, all her fears were unfounded, and he does his best to convey this in the way he sinks into her.

Bracing himself on his left arm, he moves in her and above her, his right hand roaming where he wanted to earlier and he drinks in her quiet gasps, the way she pushes her head back into the pillow as her eyes squeeze shut, the way her arms wrap around his shoulders to bring him close enough for her mouth to move messily against his own. There’s pleasure, of course, but it’s more the feeling of them returning to themselves that starts Killian’s movements speeding up. One of these days he’ll have to see if there’s a way she can soundproof the room so he can hear the way she calls his name in the throes of her passion again, but for now her quiet whispers are just as good.

“You feel amazing,” he tells her, partly because it’s absolutely true, especially when she squeezes around him, bringing him closer to the edge. It’s also partly because he thinks she needs to hear it, though.

And it’s suddenly so clear: there was no possibility for intimacy after Henry was born, so she didn’t have this issue. This is the first time she’s immediately had to come to terms with the changes in her body in regards to a lover. With his pulse hammering and his body moving in rhythm with hers, he pauses, pushing _deep_ into her and leaning up to look at her again, his fingers moving in reverence across her cheek.

“Love you, _so_ much, Swan,” he whispers, feeling her tense around him again as her own chest heaves, the perspiration starting to gather on her skin as her climax grows nearer.

She reaches her hands up, framing his face and echoing his sentiments. She pulls him down for another kiss, testing out her own movements again as she wraps her legs around his waist to shift the angle and pull him in all at once.

“Fuck,” they both whisper, and then they’re moving in tandem, proving that sometimes missionary is exactly the position needed to reconnect. She tumbles before he does, her body rhythmically clasping him through her orgasm. With her nails dragging down his back, he falls over his own edge, pushing into her and pausing, his groan low and rumbling and hopefully unnoticed by the sleeping child in the next room.

They stay just like that for a minute, Emma’s fingers gently caressing the expanse of his back as her legs ease back down to bracket his hips. His forehead rests against hers, their breaths mingling and eyes unfocused as they try to look at each other. Finally, he pulls away enough to look upon her, and there it is, that beautiful glow that’s part magic and part femininity so powerful that it manifests across her skin to light her up.

He opens his mouth to tell her as much, but it’s exactly at that moment that the monitor crackles, the little lights on the front of it indicating an increase in noise, and then Hope’s sad little wail comes through. With a shake of his head, he places a tender kiss on Emma’s lips, and she smiles again when he rolls away to clean himself up and go see to their daughter.

Dressed back in his sleep bottoms and a t-shirt, Killian enters Hope’s room and immediately moves to pull her from the crib. Once she’s settled with her head on his shoulder, he treks down the stairs to grab a bottle from the fridge. The whole time, he sways and shushes her the best he can, until her cries turn to whimpers, and then to her little babbles.

By the time Hope has been fed, burped, changed, and settled back into her crib fast asleep, Emma is curled to face his side of the bed, but she, too, is out solid. Killian sighs, a happy and tired thing, as he leans over and kisses Emma on the forehead before getting comfortable and finding his own dreams.

From absolutely no sex at all, he and Emma are suddenly finding every single free moment to engage in some relaxation of an adult nature when Hope is napping.

Emma bites her lip as she traps him in the shower one day, and then her lips are wrapped around him as he tries not to slip and fall.

Killian backs her against the fridge as he returns the favor, his lips and tongue delving and tasting while he downright _enjoys_ the way she falls apart above him.

Both of them find every hidden nook and cranny of the house to initiate another round. He’s had more sex standing up in the last three months than he thinks he has in his entire, long life. Not that he’s complaining - not at all, actually. It’s thrilling trying to fit these moments into small heartbeats of time. He loves the flash of her sultry smile when she passes the bathroom as he’s giving Hope a bath. She makes a subtle noise when he brushes against her trying to get to the coffee maker before the baby wakes.

But more than that, they find that there’s plenty of time for all of it. They can devote so much of their time to Hope because they’ve found the rest of the time for themselves.

Much like all things, however, there comes a complication right around the time that Hope starts standing on her own and her personality starts to show. She finds things she likes, _a lot_. Sometimes it’s a toy, or something shiny, or something that’s caught her fancy for a moment, and suddenly it’s… in her room.

There have been two instances of puppies scratching at the door to get out when Hope is supposed to be napping. They’ve found library books in her crib, toys they didn’t buy her on the floor, a strand of fairy lights from Snow and David’s porch wrapped around her fan… She _does_ know the value of her mum’s jewelry, apparently, because Emma’s favorite diamond earrings end up on the dresser, just in Hope’s line of sight but otherwise untouched.

And then there’s the events of May 22. With Hope sleeping longer and sounder each night, Emma and Killian have lost a bit of the desperation in their lovemaking. It’s more about the exploration again, and Killian could spend hours tasting her skin, and now he finally can.

On that fateful night, they retire to their room after the baby is asleep, and Killian takes his time stripping his wife and wringing every drop of pleasure she has to give. By the time she finally knocks him to the mattress, straddling him and riding him hard, he’s ready for his own release and she’s ready for him to stop teasing her.

The pace she sets is relentless, and Killian holds her hip to encourage her speed, his release closer with each downward swoop of her body, and just as he’s about to climax, he’s stumbling into the wall in Hope’s room, and he can hear Emma’s noise of surprise from way too far away. With his mind totally boggled and his eyes wide, he looks around in confusion.

“Dada?” There’s a rattling that he recognizes is her stuffed whale - a sign usually that she wants to play.

Killian whips around, staring at his daughter in horror as he realizes he’s stark naked in her nursery. He reaches for the knitted blanket on the back of the rocking chair, trying to catch his bearings from the sudden shift in location and activity.

“Daddy would love to play with you darling, but it’s the middle of the night.” He says, his breath still gasping just a little bit as he does his best to wrap the blanket around his waist. “Daddy was sleeping.”

Hope shakes her head, a look identical to her mother’s crossing her features as she stares him down. “No,” she tells him, the vowel elongated as she keeps shaking her head.

Bloody hell, she has Emma’s lie detector, as well as her magic. “Okay, okay. Daddy was working out,” he tells her. She gives him a considering look, but she doesn’t know what that means yet so she can’t call him on it. Plus, it isn’t _entirely_ a lie.

“It’s okay, baby. Daddy’s gonna go change and then he’ll come back and read us a story, okay?”

Saved by his Savior, as usual, Killian thinks. She walks in, already dressed in her pajamas like she was roused from sleep, carrying his robe. “Go get cleaned up and I’ll see you back here in five?” she says quietly, passing him the robe and leaning up to kiss his cheek quickly before sending him on his way.

Behind him, Hope’s happy babbles return as she reaches for her mum, and Killian turns to look at them after he’s tied the sash closed. There are his two beautiful blondes, and he loves them more than he’s loved anything else in his life. But he has a feeling something will have to be done about that magic until Hope can learn to control herself.

That’s a problem for tomorrow. For now, he needs sleep pants, a cool washcloth, and to read his wife and daughter a bedtime story.


End file.
